


It's late and I (cannot seem to find my way home tonight)

by tiniestawoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gen, Homesickness, Jackson Whittemore is Part of the Pack, Jackson-centric, Pack Feels, Post-Season/Series 02, Spark Stiles Stilinski, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Werewolf Hunters, but like for werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24807409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestawoo/pseuds/tiniestawoo
Summary: The closest Jackson had gotten to feeling like he was actually a part of something had been those brief weeks in Beacon Hills as a werewolf.  While Derek and Peter had done their best to shove a lifetime’s worth of instruction on how not to become a mindless killing machine (again) into a few weeks of time, he’d felt like maybe he was actually connected to them. The bonds of the pack, they were real, tangible. Jackson could feel them: Derek and Peter, Isaac, and even, faintly, Scott. He’d felt connected, felt included.And then, he’d crossed an ocean, and now all he felt was alone.--Or, the one where Jackson finds himself in trouble in London, but his pack comes for him, because that's what pack does.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Jackson Whittemore
Comments: 13
Kudos: 91





	It's late and I (cannot seem to find my way home tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my Jackson Appreciation Week 2020 contribution for day 5: part of the pack. 
> 
> Thanks to Fridge and Jess for helping me sort my thoughts out and calling me out on my comma overuseage alsdkjflaksdjf.

Jackson had hated everything about London almost as soon as he’d arrived. Sure, at least he hadn’t died here. He hadn’t terrorized an entire town and everyone in it. Here, he was just another face in the crowd. He was nothing at all, really. 

It was freeing and _heartbreaking_. 

Most of Jackson’s life had been spent searching for a connection, for a family. He’d tried to be the best son, everyone’s best friend, the best boyfriend he could be for Lydia. He gave everyone the best of him, and yet none of it even touched the emptiness inside him. David and Jacqueline Whittemore cared about him, had raised him, given him every opportunity to succeed, and even claimed to love him.

But….to Jackson, love was supposed to be more than a word. It wasn’t supposed to be a burden, like he was just another ‘to do’ on the list of things his father wanted to accomplish with his life. 

The closest Jackson had gotten to feeling like he was actually a part of something had been those brief weeks in Beacon Hills as a werewolf. While Derek and Peter had done their best to shove a lifetime’s worth of instruction on how not to become a mindless killing machine (again) into a few weeks of time, he’d felt like maybe he was actually connected to them. The bonds of the pack, they were real, tangible. Jackson could feel them: Derek and Peter, Isaac, and even, faintly, Scott. He’d felt connected, felt included.

And then, he’d crossed an ocean, and now all he felt was alone.

“Whittemore!”

His name shook him out of his head and he turned away from the window he’d been staring through to see the closest person he had to a friend, the son of one of his father’s business associates, waving at him. Jackson gave a halfhearted wave back and shoved his hands into his pockets, wandering towards him and the few friends he’d brought with him.

“Little birdy told me you’ve got a birthday coming up,” Andrew said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Any idea what you want to do for it?”

 _Go home._ “No,” Jackson answered. His birthday was a full moon. He was sure that, alone somewhere quiet, he could keep his wolf anchored enough not to hurt anyone, but to do that somewhere with loud music and strangers? It felt dangerous. “I’m not sure I’m up for anything. It’s not like I know anyone here.” 

Andrew’s eyes narrowed slightly, and then he smirked and gave a quick shake of his head. “You’ve got to, mate. It’s your birthday. I’ll plan something for you. _I_ certainly know people.” 

“I’m really not sure--”

“Unless you’ve got a reason not to have a _birthday party_ ,” Andrew smirked. “You won’t have to do anything, I promise. It’ll be fun.” 

With a resigned sigh, Jackson nodded. Andrew beamed, and then moved like he might grab Jackson’s shoulder. At the last moment, he hesitated and then waved for Jackson to follow him out of their fathers’ office building and into the sights and sounds of London. 

\--

Planning, it turned out, was something that Andrew took a lot of pride in. That meant that all Jackson had to do was sit back and let him take care of everything. There was a pub to rent out, music to arrange, and catering to handle. Andrew made it all look easy. Andrew and Lydia, Jackson thought casually, would probably get along well. 

It also turned out that he had dramatically miscalculated his ability to control his shift on a full moon, but by the time he realized, it was too late to take it all back. 

And so, as the moon rose outside, he found himself hiding in the corner of a loud, dark room crawling with bodies. One of his clawed hands was clenched tightly in a fist, and he was keeping his eyes forcefully closed so as to not alert the entire pub to the glowing cobalt blue of them. 

His wolf didn’t want loud noises and strangers. His wolf wanted his pack, wanted to be let off the leash to run and play and exist with the closest thing he really had to _family._ Jackson couldn’t help but realize that that was what _he_ wanted too, not just his wolf. He’d run from Beacon HIlls, afraid of the mess he’d left behind, not ready to face the terror of what he’d done. He’d crossed an ocean and hoped that he’d be able to forget what it was like to be a monster, to pretend he was just normal.

Just your everyday, ordinary, American werewolf in London.

The pumping bass of the music was agony on his overly sensitive ears. He was unable to tune it out, to focus on anything else. His control, tenuous as it was, began to slip and then, out of nowhere, a scent hit his nose. Beneath the scent of sweat and alcohol, he smelled _home, safety_ …

_Alpha._

Jackson heard footsteps approaching him, the scent was tangible and real and here. He didn’t flinch away when a broad, warm hand reached out to grip the back of his neck. Jackson fought to not let out the high pitched whine that grew in the back of his throat. 

“Get it together, Jackson. Find your anchor.” Derek’s voice was always gentler than Jackson expected it to be. He spoke like a man who knew what it was like to be broken and handled poorly. It wasn’t _kind_ per se, but it wasn’t harsh either. Derek was prepared to cut himself repeatedly on his own sharp edges before he’d let anyone be hurt like he’d been.

Jackson dragged in a few breaths. Derek’s scent and presence blocked out the noise. He could feel the pack bonds, now glowing and warm rather than weak and brittle as they had been. Slowly, once he was sure he was back in control, he was able to open and take in the image of the man in front of him.

Derek was dressed casually and, when Jackson wasn’t overwhelmed by the scent of _alpha_ , he sort of smelled like stale air and the city. Jackson shook his neck out of the alpha’s grip and unclenched his hand, keeping it angled away from the masses so nobody saw the slowly healing crescents from where his claws had pierced his palms. “What are you doing here?” 

“It’s your birthday,” Derek answered, still standing closer to Jackson than he would have expected. “And a full moon. Lydia said sometimes your birthdays meant you made poor choices.”

Jackson couldn’t help but smile at that; nobody knew him better than Lydia Martin. “So you just decided to get on a plane and fly here to make sure I didn’t make any poor choices?”

Derek raised both eyebrows and pointedly moved his eyes in a slow circle. “Apparently I was too late to stop that.”

“I didn’t plan this,” Jackson said. “I got...bullied into it.” 

“You got _bullied_?” Incredulity dripped from Derek’s voice.

“Jackson! There you are.” Jackson winced at Andrew’s voice. Derek shifted so he was beside him instead of blocking him from view. Andrew stopped a few paces away from them, his eyes flicking to Derek. 

“Who’s this?” Andrew asked, his voice carefully paced and even-toned. A half-empty beer bottle dangled from one hand, his other motioning towards Derek.

Jackson saw Derek take in the other man, watched his jaw clench imperceptibly, saw the way Derek’s hands flexed, ready for a fight. In control, with all of his senses heightened by the moon and his alpha by his side, Jackson could smell the wolfsbane, the gun oil and lighter fluid that marked Andrew as the _hunter_ that he was. Did Andrew or Andrew’s father even know Jackson’s father? Or had this all just been a setup, designed to end with him dead?

Obviously displeased that Jackson hadn’t answered him, Andrew turned to Derek, “Were you even on the list?” And then asked Jackson, “Has he been bothering you?” 

“I’m just -” Derek started.

“This is my boyfriend, Derek,” Jackson finished quickly. “From California.” He wrapped one of his arms through Derek’s and leaned his head over to rest against the curve of Derek’s shoulder. “We’re not _really_ still a thing but I told him I missed him. It’s my _birthday,_ so he came.” 

“Oh,” Andrew said, still tense and flicking his eyes to Derek sparingly. “Well, cheers, Derek.” Andrew tilted his beer bottle towards him. “Jacks, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He held out a hand towards Jackson.

“In a little while,” Jackson said, pressing one hand to Derek’s chest, not daring to look up and see if he was playing along. “Derek just got here. I’ll find you in a few minutes, okay?” 

“Sure.” Andrew eyed the pair warily once more, and took a few steps backwards before spinning and disappearing into the crowd.

“We’re leaving. _Now,_ ” Derek said into Jackson’s ear. The beta agreed, letting Derek tug him through the kitchen towards the back door of the pub. “Did you know he was a hunter?” 

“Not until two minutes ago.” Jackson said, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as they walked. “I thought you were just overblowing the whole ‘lone wolf dies, pack survives’ thing.” 

Derek gave Jackson a hard look. “It’s not just a mantra. I _lived_ it.”

“Well, turns out that I’ve spent the last six weeks being seduced by a hunter.” Jackson gave a harsh exhale, frustration tugging at his control. The pull of the moon was strong in his blood. 

“Did you sleep with him?” Derek asked, grabbing one of Jackson’s shoulders and tugging the beta around to face him. Jackson was surprised by the vulnerability in Derek’s eyes, something he’d seen only sparingly before. “Did you?”

“No,” Jackson answered, blinking rapidly. “No, I haven’t been...feeling well since I got here.” He’d been _dedicated_ to ignoring the fact that being in London had all but killed his sex drive. “But I’m beginning to think this whole thing was a setup to get me to lose control so they could kill me.” 

Relief washed over Derek’s face. When they got to the back door, they found the way blocked with mountain ash. Derek swore, pulling out his phone. “Yeah,” he said, giving Jackson a deadpan glare. “I’d say it was a setup.” He dialed and put the phone to his ear. 

Jackson frowned. “Who are you even calling?”

“Backup.” Derek’s face went sour as Jackson heard the person on the other end of the line go, _‘So I was right?’_ Derek frowned, but gruffly responded, “Gloat later. Come get us out of here.” 

\--

Jackson didn’t distinctly remember mentioning Andrew’s name to Lydia, but it turned out that at some point he had. And, in a very fortunate series of events, Lydia had mentioned it to Allison, who had mentioned it to Chris, who had recognized it as the name of an English hunting family. It hadn’t taken long to put the pieces together: Jackson was in danger.

The fact that Jackson’s birthday was on a full moon had only prompted the pack into action _faster_. 

The Argents, Isaac, Stiles, and Peter had accompanied Derek to London, and it was the five of them, along with Derek and Jackson, that remained in the pub after they’d cleared it out. Allison had Andrew tied neatly to a chair. At some point, he’d been gagged with his own tie, because _Stiles_ of all people had gotten sick of listening to his unending tirade against werewolves and all things supernatural. They were waiting for the arrival of Andrew’s father, so that Chris Argent could exert his ancient hunting family dominance and put a stop to the facade.

“Did you have to tell him I was your boyfriend?” Derek hissed to Jackson, who was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Jackson glanced up at Derek and chuckled. “It was the first thing I thought of that would get him to leave us alone. I didn’t want to make him even more angry by pointing out that my _alpha_ had crashed his party.”

Derek’s face went through a complicated series of microexpressions before landing on fond amusement. There was a tilt to his lips that Jackson thought _might_ have been a smile.

Before Derek could reply, the door slammed open and a furious Harrison Deighton appeared in the doorway, his eyes scanning the occupants. He was accompanied by a pair of men, large, imposing figures that didn’t move more than a few feet from their leader. “Release my son,” he snarled.

Chris Argent sat lazily on a barstool, one foot dangling, not yet looking at the newest additions to the room. “Did you know he was planning this? A birthday party for a new werewolf on a full moon? Loud, full of strangers?” Even Jackson appreciated the force of Argent’s ice blue gaze as it flicked up to meet the Englishman’s furious one. “A werewolf that has killed no one in your territory and was here for a fresh start?” 

“He’s got blue eyes,” Harrison answered. “Drew’s seen them. You sent a blue-eyed werewolf to my territory, _Argent_.” The name was laced with hatred. “Your father and sister would never --” 

“Aunt Kate is dead,” Allison said firmly, stepping forward. “And my father didn’t send Jackson here. I did.” She held her head high. “I assumed that the hunters in this region weren’t codebreakers.” She flicked a disdainful look at Andrew. “Turns out I was wrong.” 

“He’s got _blue eyes_.” 

“Would you shut up about his eyes already?” Peter rolled his own eyes and, in a feat of control Jackson was sure came with thirty-plus years as a werewolf, half-way through the roll they began to burn their deep cobalt color. “Or we’re going to have bigger problems.” 

Chris shook his head at the theatrics. “You’re going to leave him alone, Deighton. You and your son. An attack on him without a valid excuse and I _will_ go to the Hunter Council about this. Am I clear?” 

Deighton shot Jackson a hateful look before turning back to Chris and nodding. At that, Isaac stepped forward and, with a bright and triumphant grin, used his claws to cut through the rope holding the younger hunter to the chair. Andrew’s hands shot up to pull the tie out of his mouth. 

“Get away from me, you animal.” 

Harrison turned and, accompanied by his men, left the building. Andrew moved quickly to follow, sidestepping around the werewolves in his way. As he made it to the door, Stiles stepped up to block the doorway with a tight, serious expression. “Lay one finger on him and it won’t be the wolves that come after you.” Jackson watched something _spark_ in Stiles’ eyes, the brown of his irises glowing ethereally for a moment before fading away. “Have a nice night.” 

Well, _that_ was new.

“Are you guys gonna tell me why you’re really here?” Jackson asked once they were sure the Deightons were gone. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “Lydia worried about me and you all figured out there was a hunter after me, sure, but did six of you really need to come to London just to protect me?” 

“You’re pack,” Derek answered, his eyebrows drawn in confusion, but the look slipped from confusion into something harder to interpret. He stared at the floor, hands clasped together.

“You’re pack, and we’re a little short on that these days,” Stiles picked up the slack for Derek from his place near the door. “Erica and Boyd are still missing.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“I can’t lose any more betas,” Derek said finally, looking up. “Letting you leave was a mistake. Sending you here alone, without a pack, was a mistake. If you want to come home, Argent, Peter and I will negotiate it with your parents.”

Jackson was _almost_ embarrassed by how quickly he agreed, but two days later he was seated beside the alpha on a plane back to Beacon Hills, and he couldn’t remember feeling so content in his life.


End file.
